


Hold the line

by Machs88



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Dol Amroth, Easterlings, Gen, Pelennor Fields, Rohan, War of the Ring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-15
Updated: 2019-04-15
Packaged: 2020-01-13 18:33:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18474691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Machs88/pseuds/Machs88
Summary: When all ends...





	Hold the line

The banner waved black in the enemy's face. The coat of arms was almost distorted by the wind's wind. Chaos was around them. The company was perched on a gentle slope. No escape, they already knew. Behind them the cruel river. In front of them blood and revenge-thirsty beasts. He had seen it in his eyes, to the first enemy killed in a close duel. Thirst for blood and revenge.

An arrow stuck to his feet, and he instinctively lifted the shield. Another one of those devastating charges was coming. The first two charges cornered them to the slope. Barbarians, even if different from those before. The stories of the grandmothers spoke of monsters half man and half horse, and these screaming and swords-whirling devils really did resemble to monsters of the stories of old.

As sometimes happens in battle, the charge was not for them, and for a moment the swirling chaos seemed to leave them aside. As if the world had forgotten them.

He turned back. The captain wielded a long sword of ancient times, and urged men to recover. The younger ones, who were also the most tired, believed him, shook themselves and returned to the front line, full of enthusiasm.

But he was a veteran of more wars than he could remember. And his kin, his people, was equally veteran.

Always with the same enemy, for centuries. The wise had been saying for over two thousand years. Abstract numbers, for those like him. His company even had the proud motto, a little crazy: "We don't age". Not because they were immortal, like the ancient kings of overseas legends, but because they were warriors for life.

The sound of the harp, the whir of wheat, the laughter of children. Ugh. Those things were good for stories, or for the militia to be mobilized in this or that military campaign. Or for some noble soul, remained in the lost times, in which there was not only war, but also peace. Even peace.

No, he was different. He loved the shining sword for his sharp blade, the arrow for his swiftness, and the warrior for acquired glory. He was a warrior. He didn't give a damn about what he defended.  
" _We don't age_ ".

Those seriously injured were pulled back, higher up the slope. Needless to have any illusions, they were at the last lines. The White City against the Dark Tower, good and evil bound in a mortal struggle for the destinies of the world.

A flask passed from hand to hand, and a stream of refreshing liquid trickled down his throat. The Captain passed through the ranks, and when he arrived among the veterans, he indicated with satisfaction a pile of Orcs swept away by a cavalry charge.

«One hundred Orcs killed today are one hundred Orcs less to kill tomorrow».

The joke was received by a chorus of sneers. Orcs. What a damned race. He spat on the ground and took another sip. It almost seemed to be at home, in the silent woods.

The moment of peace ceased as it came. A few hundred yards away a large cavalry contingent prepared for the charge. Dazzling armours, blue and green banners, with an occasional black banner piled up, all arranged in a cruel wedge. It was over. His whole life passed before him.

The captain handed him their banner. As if it were animated by a will of its own, the cloth came to life. The black lay down, the red snake pounced against the enemy, seeming almost to come out of the ensign.

The captain arrived in front of everyone. It was worth dying with dignity.

«For the honour of Rhûn! Hold the line!»


End file.
